AUTHOR'S NOTE: The female character was created by Neal Schaffer in "One Plus One" but was never officially given a name, so I just picked one for her. She had a brief appearance in the graphic novel, so I'm just taking my best guess in the purpose that she serves in the context of the "One Plus One" universe. In my story, she serves a very specific purpose.

Onward!

---

It was different than the ones he was used to having, but it filled him with dread regardless.

There were no terrifying images scorched into his memory like before. Nothing that involved eviscerated loved ones or destructive fires. There was only darkness. A darkness so pitch black, he couldn't even see an inch in front of him.

"Stay here."

Where was that coming from? He whirled around to find even more black. "Hello?" he called. "Dean?"

"Stay here."

The voice was definitely female. "Where are you?" Sam shouted. He couldn't even figure out what direction the voice was coming from.

"Stay here."

Sam returned to consciousness with an abrupt jerk of his limbs.

A sharp pain shot through his arm as his eyes snapped open, followed by the sound of something crashing to the carpeted floor.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded amazingly sharp, considering the rude awakening. In the darkened room, Sam could see the outline of Dean's shape, now sitting up in the bed across from his, clutching a knife at the ready.

"I'm okay," he replied, automatically. He reached over to turn on the lamp on the side table and realized he'd knocked it over when he woke up. Awkwardly retrieving it, he switched it on, giving his face a slightly demonic look as the now naked bulb underlit his face.

Seeing no immediate danger, Dean stowed the knife back to its rightful place and groaned when he noticed it was nearly 4am. "Man, I feel like I JUST went to sleep!" He glanced over at Sam, who was fitting the shade back on the lamp. Normally when Sam woke up his dreams, usually waking Dean up in the process, there was usually an expression of fear and grief that soon melted into a grim mask on his face. Instead, Sam looked faintly disturbed. "You have another nightmare?"

"I…I'm….not sure," Sam admitted.

"Well, did you dream about something that scared the crap out of you? That's usually how I can tell a nightmare." Dean frowned at the lack of reaction from his brother at the remark. "Seriously, what did you dream about?"

"I'm not sure," said Sam. "I didn't actually see anything." And the more he thought about it, he realized not seeing anything was disturbing him more than his usual nightly rounds of visual terrors.

"Guess it's your lucky night, then," said Dean, sounding like he was already getting back to sleeping. Reaching over, he flicked the newly adjusted lamp off.

"Just because I can't remember doesn't mean it wasn't a nightmare," Sam argued, flicking the lamp back on. The underlying bad feeling was starting to expand.

Dean buried his head under his extra pillow when the light flooded the room again. "Take what you can get, Sammy. Don't look at it in the mouth."

Sam scoffed at the muffled words. "THIS coming from YOU? What happened to trusting your hunches?" Only the sound of obviously fake snoring replied to that comment. "Oh, that's a cheap way to end a debate."

"I'm not the budding lawyer. Now, go to sleep."

"Dean." More fake snoring. "Dean!"

"Alright, dammit," Dean acquiesced. Pulling his head back out, he gave his brother a foul look before sitting up all the way.

Meeting Dean's expectant look, Sam tried to explain it as clearly as he could. "There was a voice. A woman, definitely. She was telling me to stay here."

"Was she hot?"

"I couldn't see her," said Sam, lost in thought.

"Did she sound hot?" Dean tried again.

"That's not the point!"

"Okay! Relax, dude. I'm just trying to get interested in your story. So, some chick was telling you to stay, go on."

"That's it," Sam admitted.

"That's it? That's all you got? For this I'm losing sleep?"

"Look, I know it sound like much."

"That's because it isn't much," groused Dean.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so."

Dean slid back down on the bed. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm having a bad feeling."

Looking over at his brother, Dean paused before sighing. "Listen, Sam. Maybe you just had a regular whacked out dream. You know, the normal kind you get from too much Chinese food."

"We didn't have Chinese food last night," Sam said, vaguely.

"Whatever. You know what I mean."

Sam opened his mouth to argue again, but stopped himself. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe it was just a normal, messed up dream. He supposed it wasn't out of the question. But it still felt wrong to leave it hanging. And while they might not figure out what to do right now, the need to at least talk to Dean about it was strong. A trait that had only grown tenfold after he had been threatened with the idea that Dean might not be around past two weeks to listen to him ramble on about a nightmare of his. And comfort him in his Dean-esque badgering way that was annoying most of the time, but always did the trick.

Sam turned to tell his brother that maybe he was right about it being a normal dream when he caught him snoring again. This time it didn't look like he was faking.

---

After his 10th cigarette in under two hours, David opened the window to his apartment to let some of the smoke out. It was when he did this that he saw her. Looking up at him from the street, she raised a hand and waved. First a greeting and then a beckoning for him to come down.

Pulling his head back in, David slammed the window shut and cursed softly. She wasn't the type to show herself like this so quickly in the game. It could only mean she thought she had some sort of upper hand on him already. Not that that would be too hard. After all, this case would require a more hands-on approach. Something she was used to and something David didn't really enjoy. He hated getting his hands dirty. It somehow made him feel…culpable. Hence the 2 hour smoking session that had now just been interrupted.

She greeted him with a wide smile that lit up her small face when he came out to join her on the pavement.

"Good morning, Mr. Coulson," she greeted. "Up early, I see."

"Angela."

"Care to join me for breakfast? The diner across the street has a great lumberjack spread."

If there was one thing that Angela didn't have, it was a poker face. David could practically see the smugness smeared across her features. But maybe she was faking it. Making him want to think she knew more than she did. Shaking his head, David tried to shove off his double thinking. Maybe breakfast wasn't a bad idea.

"So…not usually your style to call a meeting before we each take our shot," he said, as they sat down to eat. "But it seems like your people already took their shot awhile ago." Angela's eyes shined innocence. "Leading Mrs. La Grange to that book must have taken quite a lot of work."

"Well, little ol' me can't take credit for that. Although my associate did mention it was quite a tricky move." The smug look on Angela's face faded slightly to something more annoyed when she added, "But it seems you've taken great pains to reverse a few things."

"Well, little ol' me can't take credit for that," repeated David, feeling slightly petty. "And I wouldn't say reverse. It's correcting." They paused when their waitress deposited two large plates of pancakes in front of them. "So, is there a reason for this little get together?" he asked, eyeing her across his jumbo stack.

"Simply to say hello again," she replied, lightly. "We don't have much time before this is all over and I wasn't sure I'd have the pleasure of seeing you again."

"Right." While Angela doused her pancakes in syrup, David continued to watch her. She knew something. Or she was already doing something. Even when he had been an actual member of the functioning society, David hated being out of his element. And knowing his own squeamishness about getting down and dirty on this case while his opponent was obviously quite comfortable with the idea was starting to grate at him.

"You know," said Angela, conversationally. "It's not too late to drop out. I'm sure you can just tell your people that this one just happened to slip away from you." She took a bite of her breakfast. "After all, it isn't THAT big a deal, now is it?"

David gave a humorless laugh. "You know perfectly well what's happened because of this. Someone has to fix it."

"Maybe it doesn't need fixing," said Angela, looking nonplussed. "Maybe, in the end, it's just no big deal."

"I highly doubt it."

"You really fret too much, Mr. Coulson," said Angela, around a mouthful of pancake. "I mean, really, after all, a life is a life. What difference does it make as long as it all balances out in the end?"

"I'm sure Marshall Hall finds it to be quite a difference."

"But really, what would Marshall Hall have REALLY accomplished in his relatively short time on earth?"

"I'm sure not very much," David agreed. "Still, it was his time. And having someone else walk around with it doesn't sit well. Especially since I highly doubt Mr. Hall would have spent his remaining days hunting monsters and demons. That's not what his time was allotted for."

"But now he gets to contribute so much more to this nice little planet!" Angela chirped, cheerily. Seeing David's stone determined face, she sighed. "Oh dear. And I did so hope we could be friends this time." David only took a sip of his coffee. "You never see the larger picture, Mr. Coulson."

"Oh, I see the larger picture," countered David. "And I don't know why you and your people want things to turn out this way, but it won't happen."

"We'll see," Angela smiled, complacently. "Are you going to eat that?" she asked, indicating his breakfast.

David looked at his plate. "Do what the Romans do," he muttered to himself as he picked up his fork.